


Sweet Decay

by lea_hazel



Series: Kothic Chronicles [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Banter, Canon Non-Binary Character, Established Relationship, Intrigue, Kings & Queens, Married Couple, Other, Post-War, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: A private moment between the King and Consort, years after the usurpation of the throne (and four years pre-game).





	Sweet Decay

Sixteen years had passed from the extinction of the Kidian dynasty, and Koth was flourishing. At the borders, peace was enforced with an iron hand, and in the capital of Kantul, Koth's citizenry were free to go about their daily lives, safe from threat. Even the royal palace was transformed, externally and internally. The outer walls and towers were fortified to the King's exacting standards, leaving the lesser labors of internal renewal to the Royal Consort. Their domain spanned the receiving rooms, gardens, parlors, lounges, libraries and the newly installed music hall. The library was stocked with texts and codices enough to satisfy their academic excitement, and what was once the hall of portraits became a gallery fit to flaunt the finest musical talents in the known world. The work had been years in the making.

"Are you satisfied?" asked the King of his Consort, while they were watching a troupe of musicians rehearse for their evening performance.

The gallery offered a fine view of the performers, and an excellent prospect of the music itself.

"How am I not to be satisfied?" said Consort Harim, returning his question with one of their own. "Do I not have everything that I have ever asked for? Anything that I _could_ or _might_ or _ought_ to have asked for?"

"You _ought_ to have asked for the destruction of our enemies," said the King, though he knew that they would never agree on that point, "though I am more than content to offer you these trifles, instead."

"Our enemies are destroyed, Ore," they reminded him softly, laying a light hand on his arm.

"I wanted to see their very _name_ destroyed, Harim," said the King. "Their very _memory_."

"I know, my heart," replied the Consort, who knew the script to this debate as well as he did.

He turned his back on the gaping gallery and the ruckus below and, sweeping aside the train of his coat, made ready to storm out into the corridor, as though charging a fortified stronghold. But before he could enact his melodrama, he paused and sighed and turned around again, offering his arm to his spouse. Consort Harim took the King's arm, balancing their gloved hand on it lightly, as though his outburst had been nothing unusual at all. Together, they turned out of the gallery and proceeded through the rooms beyond, from the public halls into the private apartments, where only they and their family had foothold.

When finally they came to rest, it was in the only portrait hall the great old palace of Koth had left: one of the royal family's private receiving halls, where only the closest of callers were permitted. Most of the family's historical portraiture was restricted to the ancestral estates, far off in either the north or south of the land. Their eldest was even now sitting for the final touches on his coming-of-age portrait, which would be shipped summarily to the Suthis estate, once complete, to join a long line of ancestors hanging grimly onto its walls, gazing down at their descendants.

The vast portrait that hanged over them now was at least twice the size of that other canvas. Framed in elaborate gold, it set its subject against a dark backdrop, a classical composition that drew the viewer's eye to the face so depicted, and its extraordinary features. Though Consort Harim was the member of the royal family traditionally considered the great beauty at court, there was no denying that the King's features _were_ extraordinary. In private moments, like this one, they liked to tease him over having married him solely for his looks. Ariel knew they'd never lacked for other prospects, even with a bastard child.

"I can't believe Mama tricked me into sitting for this abomination," said the King with a deep sigh.

"I happen to think it's rather dashing," replied his Consort.

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you wanted me to commission a coronation portrait? I thought it was to provide employment for your disreputable artist friends."

"I wanted a coronation portrait," said Harim, "because it was a momentous historical occasion, and momentous events ought to be commemorated. That's all."

"That's all?" he asked. "I recall having to bribe you extensively to dissuade you from the notion."

Harim sighed. "I still regret accepting that bribe."

"I bribed you with the throne," said Orust, "and marriage."

"You're not listening, my heart," said Harim. "The taking of the throne is why I wanted the commission to begin with. And marriage was _my_ idea, as I recall."

"Truly?" said Orust in mock-outrage. "You didn't want it just so you could have my stunning likeness hanging in your private library?"

Harim smiled. "Why should I be satisfied with a likeness when I can have the original?"

He laughed.

They glanced back up at the vast likeness that loomed from the wall and sighed again.

"Still regretting?" asked their husband.

"No," said the Royal Consort, "but I do believe I need to sit down."

"That's on account of the many layers and tiny shoes you're prone to," said Orust. "If you wore boots, like me, this would never happen."

Harim swept the heavy skirts of their court robes neatly out of the way, folding down into one of the plush little armchairs that decorated the room. They spent an idle moment in rearranging the fall of silks over their legs into an aesthetically pleasing configuration, spreading them out just so, the fabric rustling and singing with every movement. Orust had no such concerns. It had been his obnoxious habit from his youth to be seen in nothing more elaborate than everyday riding clothes, and that habit had abated not at all when he became King. Try as they might, his spouse could not persuade him into more court-worthy attire. At the most, they managed to influence his tailor to select a better quality of textiles when he cut the garments. Dragging him to a true couturier was a lost cause. Nor could he be persuaded to wear anything but black and more black, which, with his coloring, garnered rather a grim impression.

Orust started and that startled Harim out of their momentary reverie.

"What is it?" they asked.

"What _did_ I end up bribing you with?" asked the King. "I know you didn't give the idea up of your own accord."

"A music hall," said the Consort with a smile.

"Oh," said the King. "Then it's a good job that I've finally gone and delivered."

"And just in time for our son's coming of age, no less," said Harim.

"Do you like it?" asked the King.

"I adore it," they said, "and you."

The King laughed, and folded down to his knees before them, in a way that would be quite impossible in anything more cumbersome than a soldier's riding gear.

The Royal Consort reached out to take his hands in theirs. "I mean it, you know," they said. "I have everything that I could ask for."

"Everything that I could give you," said the King, "and I mean to keep it that way."

"I know," said Consort Harim.

**Author's Note:**

> Though the story refers to the elder Suthis child as male, this is _not_ a canon gender, just the one I chose for this story.


End file.
